Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.

Hyperion offers both CDs, and downloads in a number of formats. The site is also available in several languages.

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Recordings

‘Hierusalem is a wonderful piece which I would bracket with Finzi’s Dies Natalis and Howells’s Hymnus Paradisi as one of the best examples of mystical ...'The very beautiful, gently ecstatic Hierusalem … is such a wonderful score that … this recording should be on every shelf that cares about ...» More

Let all the world in ev’ry corner sing, My God and King! The heavens are not too high, His praise may thither fly; The earth is not too low, His praises there may grow. Let all the world in ev’ry corner sing,

My God and King! The Church with psalms must shout, No door can keep them out; But above all, the heart Must bear the longest part. Let all the world in ev’ry corner sing, My God and King!

Ye that have spent the silent night In sleep and quiet rest, And joy to see the (cheerful) light That riseth in the east; Now lift your hearts, your voices raise, Your morning tribute bring, And pay a grateful song of praise To Heaven’s Almighty King

For as this gloomy night did last But for a little space; As heavenly day, (now night is past), Doth show his pleasant face; So let us hope, when faith and love Their work on earth have done, God’s blessed face to see above, Heaven’s better, brighter sun.

Lord, thou hast given me a cell, Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof Is weather proof. Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry; Where thou my chamber for to ward Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts to keep Me while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate, Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by the poor Who thither come and freely get Good words or meat. Like as my parlour, so my hall

And kitchen’s small little buttery, and therein A little bin, Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipp’d, unsped. Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar Make me a fire, Close by whose living coal I sit And glow like it. All these and better thou dost send Me to this end, That I should render for my part A thankful heart; Which, fired by incense, I resign, Wholly Thine, But the acceptance must be, My Christ, by Thee.